Really? A free gift certificate?

(Caveat: This is a cheap shot, but I've been broke and not eating out so I'm digging back into the archives for a classic. And it's a chain.)

Break yourselves fools.

I used to think that Pizzeria Uno was the bomb.com. That is, to say, until one fateful Sunday in 1996.

It all began with a one-knee back in Uptown Minneapolis. Whilst the former old lady was not into smoking she was into buttery crusts. Now, I probably just used to have more of a base palate back in the day but I swear, before they were huge, that Pizzeria Uno used to be grubtastic I can hear the eyeballs collectively rolling around every one's heads here in NY but there you have it, I said it, I used to mack on Uno's. That is to say, until one fateful Sunday in 1997.

I had gone with my favorite, the Spinoccoli, a toothsome combination of spinach, broccoli, and feta, and old old lady was having the sausage. They were the personal pan numbers so they came out hot and fresh, right in the pans. We had each had a piece and were going for a second slice when it happened.

Old old lady was bringing the fateful slice to her plate when she lost control and dropped the slice. It flipped, doing a 180 and landed with a splat on the table. And lo, what should be winking back up at us but a plastic landing strip in the form of a band-aid.

A dirty motherfucking band-aid.

Needless to say it got all Fear Factor at the table toot sweet. I recoiled and spit out my pizza on the plate, took a huge sip off of my Coke, and then gave the cup the stink eye; who's to say there wasn't a damn clot or some shit all jammed in the corner?

Old old lady, immediately started scanning the room for our server. Having detected her a scant 20 yards away, started summoning her. "Miss? Miss? Excuse-me?" The waitress replied that she would be right over, in a semi (understandably) -rude manner. And that's when old old broke her off with the winning hand of all statements whilst in a tete-a-tete with a server, aloud, to the whole room.

"THERE'S A USED (no doubt, I swear she included that crucial bit of gore) BAND-AID STUCK TO THE BOTTOM OF MY PIZZA!"

A collective gasp escaped from the room, straight hoover. The server came over and it was a big freak out. From there on out it was S.O.P. backpedaling. They ended up giving us a bunch of gift certificates. Yeah, thanks for all of that free band-aid flavored pizza.

To this day I can't look at the south street seaport Uno's and not throw up in my mouth. Just a little.